Trapped (19 page)

But I know in my heart I've barely begun. A quiet voice nudges inside of me, urging me to confess why I felt the need to cheat and lie. “My grades seemed like the most important thing in the world. More important than you, God.”

There it is. I've laid it out there for the King of the universe. And it is not pretty. I feel ashamed to think that something as shallow as good grades (something that's not even alive) meant more to me than God. Then I realize that good grades were about me … my image … my pride.

“I was more concerned with my image,” I confess, “than I was with you.” I take in a deep breath. “And that's because of my pride. My stupid, foolish pride.” I sigh. I know it's like Miss Julia said. I need to kill my pride. Before it kills me. But I'm not quite sure how to do this.

So I cup my hands in my lap. And I imagine that I'm holding my pride in there — and my grades and what other people think of me and my acceptance into Stanford and any hopes of scholarships and all my scholastic achievements. I imagine placing them, one by one, into my hands. And it's a lot of stuff.

And then I hold this imaginary bowl up to God. “Please take these from me,” I pray. “Do whatever you want with them. Burn them or smash them or bury them or whatever. Just please —
please
— take them from me.”

I sit like that for a while, my hands lifted up to the sky. I'm sure I look like a dork to anyone passing by. But I don't care what others think. I simply put that feeling into my hands as well. “Take it all,” I say to God. “I surrender it all to you.”

Finally, I tell God that I'm sorry. Truly, truly sorry. “And even if my life gets worse, I will confess what I did to everyone and anyone. And not just select pieces of it either. I will tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth. And I will take the consequences that come with it. I don't even care who knows or what they think of me as a result. I just want it all out in the open. Beginning with my parents.” I gulp to think of actually doing this. “But I'll need your help, God. Please help me to tell my parents.”

I pray for a while longer, and it's weird but I begin to feel lighter and happier than ever. I don't just mean lighter and happier than I've felt since I started walking down this dark, twisted path. I mean lighter and happier than ever in my life.

I actually stand up and begin to do a happy dance. It's like this heavy load has been lifted, and I know God loves me and, despite what happens, I'm going to be okay. No, I'm going to be better than okay. I'm going to be great.

I feel so good that I consider hunting down my parents and just confessing the whole thing tonight. But then I realize that their reaction will probably not be as positive as mine. It's going to take them a while to wrap their minds around all this. And they have every right to be disappointed in me. I would be shocked if they weren't.

So I decide to wait to confess my transgressions to them. I'll let them enjoy one more night of bliss, ignorant bliss. I wish there was some gentle way to break it to them. And I pray again, asking God to lead me in how I do this. I ask God to show me when it's the best time to let them know their “perfect little princess” is a liar and a cheat.

I know it won't be easy. But I know it will be doable. And I know God will help me. And in the long run, it will all be worth it. Even if the only college I can get into is a community college. Even if the only job I can get is stocking shelves somewhere. Somehow God will see me through. I know it. And I would rather have a lackluster life that's guilt free than an illustrious one that's burdened with regret.

. . . [CHAPTER 17]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I
get up early the next morning. New Year's Day. I quietly dress, then slip outside to walk around. It's pretty quiet out here, and I'm sure most of the revelers from last night, including my parents, are sleeping in today. But that's okay. It's just nice to be up and out and feeling good and alive … and clean.

Oh, I know I still have a difficult day ahead of me. But to my relief, I'm actually looking forward to it. It's sort of like the way I used to feel before a big test. (Maybe not recently, but before I messed up my life.) Anyway, I have this sense of apprehension and anxiety, but I know it won't be long until it's all behind me. At least I hope that's how it will go down. The worst part of it — the telling part — can only last so long.

“There you are,” Mom says as I come back inside. She still has on her pajamas, the ones with cats on them that I gave her for Christmas. She's curled up by the crackling fireplace with a mug of something hot in her hands. “Did you plan to hit the slopes one last time?”

I shrug and sit across from her. “I don't know.”

“Dad's taking a shower. We decided not to ski today. But you can if you want. At least until noon. Then Dad wants to get on the road.”

I just nod, picking at a loose thread on my jeans.

“There's coffee if you want. Boy, did I need some. We were up too late last night.”

“So you guys really celebrated,” I say as I go to the kitchenette to fill a mug.

“Did you see the fireworks?”

“I did,” I tell her as I put the last spoonful of sugar in and stir. “They were really beautiful reflecting over the snow.”

“So you must've been feeling better then?”

I nod as I sit down. “It wasn't cramps after all.”

Dad emerges in jeans and a T-shirt, rubbing his hair with a towel. He comes over to join us. “You feeling okay, GraceAnn?” He peers at me with blurry-looking eyes.

“I actually feel pretty good.”

“There's coffee,” Mom tells him.

He gets his coffee and then we are all sitting in the small space by the fireplace, and I have a strong suspicion that this is my chance. But my heart is pounding and I can feel my hands starting to tremble. And then as Dad stands up to leave, I blurt out: “I have to talk to you guys!”

“Huh?” Dad turns and looks curiously at me. “What's up?”

“You might want to sit down,” I say quietly.

Now he gets a somber look, nodding as he sits back down and waits for me to continue.

“I have something important to tell you, and it's going to be hard for you to hear this. And it's going to be hard for me to tell you. I actually wanted to tell you before we came here. But then I changed my mind because I didn't want to ruin this vacation. And I had a really nice time. Thank you.” I pause, trying to swallow, but my throat is too dry. So I take a sip of coffee.

“What is it?” Mom's face looks paler than usual.

Dad's jaw is tense. “Please tell us.”

“It started during finals week,” I say. “No, actually, just before finals week. I'd heard that some students were cheating on exams. In fact, it sounded like a lot of them were. And I could tell that the grading curve was being affected because I got some bad grades, but the grades didn't really seem to match up with the scores — except for the curve. I figured it was because of kids cheating.” I hold up my hands now. “Not that I'm using that as an excuse.”

“An excuse for what?” Dad asks in a firm voice.

“For cheating.”

Mom blinks and sets her coffee mug down with a loud clink. “You cheated?”

I nod. “I'm sorry, but I did.”

“Why on earth would you — ”

“Quiet,” Mom tells him. “Let her finish.”

So I explain about catching Kelsey. “And I planned to tell on her. I thought she deserved it. But she told me this sob story, that her stepdad was going to beat her or she'd kill herself if she got kicked out of cheerleading. And I believed her. So I didn't tell. But then I got this crazy idea. I still had her cheating answers, and I thought it was only fair to retake the test and use them.”

Mom's brows arch. “So you did?”

I nod. “I felt horrible when I was done.”

“Good,” Dad says, like that finishes it. “You should feel horrible. You know better than that, GraceAnn. We've taught you that it's — ”

“But it didn't stop there.”

“You cheated
again
?” He tips his head to one side, like he really doesn't want to hear this, doesn't want to know what his “perfect little princess” is capable of.

“I'm sorry, but it gets worse.” I take in a steadying breath, then confess that I bought test answers for trig and AP Biology.

“You paid money for answers just so you could cheat?” Dad asks.

“To get good grades.”

“How much did it cost?” Mom's voice quavers with shock.

I quietly tell her. “But the guy said he was giving me a deal. Half price because it was my first time.”

“I can't believe this!” Dad looks to the ceiling and shakes his head. “I just cannot believe it.”

“I felt terrible the whole time.” I explain how I blamed Clayton for it, how I'd been pining away over him and how my grades dropped. “It was like I'd fallen into this black hole and couldn't get out. I know it wasn't just Clayton. It was me. I wanted to keep up my image. So I kept going down into this black hole.” I sigh. “And it got deeper and darker after I cheated.”

“So you learned your lesson?” Mom asks tentatively.

I nod eagerly. “Absolutely. And I'll admit it took me a while to figure out what I was going to do about it. But last night it was all clear.”

“How so?” Dad's brow is creased, and I can tell he's taking this a lot harder than he's showing. And a lot harder than Mom.

“First of all, by confessing to God. I straightened it all out with him. And for the first time since it happened, I feel like I'm going to be okay.”

“Well, that's a relief.” Mom picks up her coffee with an unsure expression. “I mean, that's something. I'm still shocked that you'd resort to something like that, GraceAnn. I've known something was off with you for a while. I suppose that's what it was the whole time.”

“So you confessed it to God,” Dad says in a stiff voice. “And now you've told us. What's next?”

“I have to tell the school what I did.”

Dad's eyes open wide and Mom presses her lips together. I can tell they're not so sure about this plan. But they don't say anything.

“I know I'm going to get into big trouble. And I will probably get suspended. And my grades will drop. And I suspect I won't get to go to Stanford after all, or even USC.”

Mom's face looks painful with disappointment. “Oh, GraceAnn!”

“It won't be easy, but I know it's what I have to do. And I'm prepared to do it.”

“Now, wait a minute.” Dad stands and starts pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. Rubbing his hand over his chin, he looks very intense. He reminds me of a wild animal that's caged but wants to kill something. He turns and looks at me.
“Do you really want to do that?”

“Dan!”
Mom's eyes flash at him.

“I'm just asking the question.”

“What are you insinuating?” Mom demands.

He gives her a seriously worried look. “I'm just saying that maybe she's taking it too far. After all, GraceAnn confessed to God. She confessed to us. Does she really have to confess to the school?”

Mom looks stymied. “I — uh — I, well, I don't know. But she needs to do the
right
thing.”

“What
is
the right thing?” he asks her.

“Telling the truth,” Mom says.

And now they are arguing about things like situational ethics and the bigger picture and the inequity of some students cheating and getting away with it while others suffer by getting low grades. And really, they are saying some of the exact same things that I had recently been telling myself.

I feel mesmerized as I watch and listen. I also feel guilty. My parents are fighting because of me. Then I remember something. “Wait!” I say as it starts getting heated. “There's something else I forgot to mention.”

“What?” they both ask simultaneously.

I tell them about Dirk and how he is blackmailing me. “He actually expects me to steal OxyContin from the pharmacy and — ”

“What?”
Dad leaps to his feet again. He is enraged now. “He what?”

“Because he gave me a deal on the answers, he expects me to pay him back with OxyContin.”

Dad shakes his fists in the air. “Who is this little sh — ?”

“Oh, Dan!” Mom cuts him off. “It won't do any good to go flying off the handle like that.”

“I'll kill him!” Dad seethes.

“Calm down,” Mom insists. “You're just making this worse.”

“I told him I can't do it.” And then, wanting to be completely honest, I tell them about the day when I almost did it. “I knew it was wrong.” I look away from their shocked faces. “But I was so desperate … I just wasn't thinking straight.”

Dad sinks back into the chair, putting his head in his hands. “I cannot believe this. Just when you think you know someone. My own daughter. I work so hard … and this is the thanks I get. I can't believe it.”

I look at Mom, and she just shakes her head sadly.

“I'm sorry,” I murmur. Now fresh tears fill my eyes. I had really expected to do this without tears. But seeing my parents in pain like this — all because of me — cuts to the core. “I'm really, really sorry,” I say in a husky voice. “I would do anything to turn back the clock. I wish I'd never done this. It's like Pastor Arnold says: Once you start going down the slippery slope, it's hard to get back up.”

“I'll say,” Dad mutters.

Mom comes over and puts her arms around me. “I can't say I'm not terribly disappointed. But we'll make it through this. Somehow we'll pull through.”

“How?”
Dad demands.

Mom gives him a blank look. “Well, certainly not by stealing pain pills and handing them over to the blackmailer. GraceAnn has no choice. She has to tell the truth.”